Tuesday, August 5, 2014

Wisdom comes in the form a tortoise

She stretches her head, as far as her neck will reach, as if straining for the scent of the wind. This neck, an accordian bridge connecting head with shell and eyes with body, is fragile as paper and tough as leather. Four sturdy legs propel her forward much quicker than any stereotypes or fables told of her. She glides with her belly close to the earth, stopping here or there to chew on this or that. She is curiosity embodied on a mission that is unspoken mystery, glinting in the steady gaze of those two beaded eyes.

She heads for the edge, always the edge. Could it be that she, too, longs for what lies beyond those eyes?

We may be more alike than I ever thought.

* * * * *

She reaches the edge of grass, the curb sloping sharply down to concrete canyon. I watch her peer over and plunge headlong, front legs spread to the sides, willing to fall. She is braver than I. Her thick enamel shell, which is her home, breaks her fall and she is still, looking out upon her new terrain.

I stand back and watch her in the world and I know she has things to teach me if I slow to her pace and get down with my belly low to the earth.

* * * * *

At another time in life, I would have moved too fast to be still, to catch the beauty in her smallness or the wonder of how much in common we share. To marvel at the ancient feel of her scaled skin against my fingers.

I would never have thought to envy her portable home or recognized with intimate familiarity, how well I already know this shell. I would not have sensed in her my own longing for the terrifying freedom of life with a God who is not contained or small as I was taught, the loneliness of life out on the edge, the ever-present shadow of the Holy hovering nearer than the shell on my back.

She was not my first choice for a pet. But then, how many times have I tasted the unexpected richness of not-first-choices in this life? Always, there, I uncover more treasure than I set out for.

I scoop her up and all four legs swim in the air and I think she wants to fly. And it looks like I will be the one to help her believe she can, even for a few moments, and maybe, too, she will teach me how to fall.

I'm so, so afraid, I think, that I'll land upside-down, not longer showing my shell but baring instead my soft underbelly. Making myself vulnerable to the elements. I prefer to hide in that shell and look strong and tough and like I have it all together. But I don't. I just don't. But your precious new pet (and your words) remind me that we're all soft in so many places. It's only through His shadow and love and grace that there is any shelter at all. I've been trying to build my shell from all the wrong things, I think. And maybe it's time to let myself fall. Just enough to let this shatter. So I can be ready to be wrapped in the right kind of covering instead.

"I've been trying to build my shell from all the wrong things, I think. And maybe it's time to let myself fall. Just enough to let this shatter. So I can be ready to be wrapped in the right kind of covering instead." All of what you said here, but this in particular, Beth, sit with me as something big going on beneath the surface. It can be so hard to know what our shells are made of, don't you think? Only that they could use a good makeover - or to be shattered completely. The gracious One knows what and how and when, and may we trust him in the falling and the remaking and the wrapping up. Love to you.

"But then, how many times have I tasted the unexpected richness of not-first-choices in this life? Always, there, I uncover more treasure than I set out for."Oh, this is good, Amber! I'm so thankful that many of my first choices fell flat, and that God gave me better instead.

Micah, I'm so grateful God knows us far better than we know ourselves. You probably know how words can seem to come flying out and you know they're more profound than you have even given much thought to yourself? Yeah, that line is one I'm going to have to chew on for awhile myself. Thank you so much for your gracious words.

Amber. You have learned to pay attention at a much younger age than I did. I think we would have a lovely visit together if somehow we could enjoy a cup of..... together! I am seeing that you have gone through significant loss as have I. It shapes us if we let it. God does not waste suffering when we "cooperate" with him as my mentor taught me.

Carol, your words here have sat with me all day. I think a visit together, one day, would be a lovely cup of together, indeed! It's amazing, isn't it, how loss can shape and color and texture and deepen our lives, even as I wouldn't wish it on anyone - neither would I wish to give up the beauty that has come of it. Glory to God, friend. Glory. I'm so grateful to connect with people such as yourself in this writing community.

Amber, it's my first time here (coming over a little late from Unforced Rhythms)... I'm amazed at how this one creature could minister to so many of us when you were still enough to notice. I used to move fast as well. I thought all valuable things did. Now God makes me move slow in a fast world, and while it's hard in a city like NYC I think He's teaching me deep things that I need to know through it. So blessed by your story.

Kim, I'm so happy you made it over here :) It's pretty amazing when God slows us down and we learn to move slow, as you are, in such a fast moving city. May you continue to taste the sweetness of a slower pace.

She's a pretty fantastic little creature. I love how us writers always appreciate each others' metaphors, those fabulous ones that come to us in our everyday :-) It makes life so colorful, doesn't it? xoxoxo

(in)courage

Five-Minute Fridays

Simply an ordinary storyteller seeking to take part in a Story more glorious, more daring, more redemptive, more full of grace, more brimming with joy and more reckless with love than this one girl could make up herself.